


Heart's a Mess - The Trip 5+1

by kebinns



Series: The Trip 5+1 [1]
Category: The Trip
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-24
Updated: 2011-08-25
Packaged: 2017-10-23 01:20:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kebinns/pseuds/kebinns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five Times Rob Kissed Steve and One Time Steve Wished Rob had Kissed Him</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heart's a Mess - MONDAY

**Author's Note:**

> I know that this is technically RPF/RPS but since Rob and Steve are playing caricatures of themselves, I don't feel quite so guilty... right? Right?

Steve hadn't seen Rob in God-knew-how-long. The man looked happy, if a bit tired. The man practically  _exuded _ happiness.

It made him unbelievably exhausted.

Steve hadn't wanted to invite Rob. He hadn't wanted anyone but Mischa, but the magazine had already booked everything for two people. Besides, he couldn't stand the idea of six days and five nights alone with only his thoughts about the recent break-up.

The trip to the Whitewell inn was easier than he'd been expecting, even while pretending to be irritated with everything Rob said or did. He knew he was taking out his frustrations on his friend but couldn't seem to stop himself.

It wasn't until they were forced to share a room that he found himself wishing he'd come alone. But damn it if the man refused to let Steve's sour mood affect him. Several times during dinner he couldn't help but laugh at Rob's antics. 

Steve attributed this to the large amount of wine they'd consumed, but damn him anyway.

He cheered up considerably when the hostess informed them there would be an extra room. She was awfully fit and returned his flirtatious advances.

  
He returned from his walk, and more importantly, his disappointing phone call with Mischa, to find that Rob was still in his room...

And very drunk. It looked as though he'd ordered another bottle of wine and finished most of it.

He did not want to deal with this.

“All right, out. Get to your room.”

“'Am,” Rob mumbled, struggling to coordinate his movements enough to juggle both of his bags. Steve took pity on him and and plucked the luggage from the other man's grasp.

He strode ahead of Rob to the new room and was forced to wait. Rob had the key. His friend caught up and fumbled clumsily at the door.

“Get a move on,” he snipped as Rob  _finally_ got the door open and took one the bags from him. He really wanted to just go to bed and forget about how unpleasant things had become between his girlfriend and him. 

That's when everything happened very quickly.

Rob re-emerged at the door to claim his other bag, a lopsided smile on his face.   
“Thanks,” he said, taking hold of the other bag but not pulling it free of Steve's grip.

And then Rob was kissing him.

 _Had _ kissed him, really. It was so brief. A warm, dry press of lips against his own, cutting off whatever mean, sarcastic and undeserved remark he was about to make. Then the door closed with a soft click.

Steve blinked.

Rob had  _kissed _ him.

He turned, heading in the direction of his own room.

 _Rob _ had kissed him.

He expected anger. He expected outrage. All he felt was curiosity.

Because Rob had kissed him and he wasn't reacting in the way he ought to; the way he  knew he should.

He reached his door. Stopped. Then went off to find the Polish hostess. Maybe pulling tonight would make him feel more... normal.

Whatever that was.


	2. TUESDAY

Neither of them mentioned the kiss. Steve supposed Rob could have been that drunk and there was no way he was going to say anything. He'd done a good job ignoring that it had ever happened until the hostess had left him early that morning, bringing everything flooding back.

He supposed it was the shock that made it so easy to remember the feeling of Rob's lips, but in the light of day, it felt all too possible that he'd imagined the whole thing.

The way he kept catching Rob looking at him suggested otherwise. He hadn't imagined it. Rob remembered.

But it was lost in the flood of food and alcohol and impressions and – though he would never admit it – fun.

He couldn't help but picking on Rob constantly as he had the previous day, but it was more playful.

Things were going along swimmingly. Until he called Mischa. Then Joe. Then Matt called him. Something about the man's hateful American accent put him on edge.

After finishing his fag, he headed inside. He wanted a drink. A stiff one. He wondered if Rob was awake.

He knocked softly on his friend's door. If Rob was still up, he would invite him down to the bar. There was a fumbling from within the room before the door finally opened.

“Steve, what can I do you for?”

Rob was already in his pyjamas.

“Ah, I was going to go for a drink but looks as though you're ready to turn in so I'll just–“

“Don't be ridiculous, come in.” Rob stepped back from the door to let him enter. “I ordered up some scotch earlier. I thought about inviting you over to share but –"

And there it was. The thing they'd been avoiding all day: The Kiss.

Every fibre of Steve's being told him not to step into that room but fleeing would be as good as  acknowledging what had happened last night.

“Sure. One drink, then I'm off to bed.”

  
One drink turned into two.

Two turned into three.

And three turned into very,  _very _ drunk.

Rob, who had been nursing his second glass most of the night, walked him back to his room, guiding him by the elbow.

“You really go all out, don't you?” Rob said to no one in particular. Steve sure wasn't listening. His sights were set on his bed, but the distance from the doorway to it seemed immense.

But Rob walked him to the bed, sat him down, and pushed him back before pulling Steve's shoes off. Steve twisted himself awkwardly in the bed trying to get his head to the pillows. Sleep. Sleep was what he needed.

He'd thought Rob had left we he suddenly felt a blanket being drug over him. He forced his eyes open. Rob didn't look nearly as drunk as he felt. Maybe he'd only had one drink. Steve couldn't remember.

“Thank you,” he tried to say, but it came out  _thnkoo _. Rob chuckled and patted him on the shoulder.

“Go to sleep, Steve.”

But Steve wasn't sleeping. His eyes had closed and he was drifting. The room set to a slow spin. Rob pressed a gentle kiss to his temple and that was nice. Comforting in a way he hadn't felt in years.

And then Rob's lips were on his and he couldn't focus and they were slightly parted but the room was tilting into darkness.

He sighed.

  
He dreamed of Ben Stiller.

And maybe just a little bit of Rob.


	3. WEDNESDAY

This time when he woke, Steve didn't even try to pretend that it hadn't happen. Instead he was unforgivably snark-y with Rob: insulting his acting, throwing Mischa in his face, and labelling them “bumless chums”. 

Rob was uncharacteristically quiet until they reached Coleridge's home, where Rob insisted on making parallels between the poet and Steve. 

They both refused to acknowledge the awkwardness.

But he had to admit that it took an awful lot of effort to stay angry with his friend. They so easily fell into the rhythm of banter that he kept having to find things to pick fights over, even when he knew he was wrong.

Rob had him on the defensive. He wanted to eat good food, not examine his life, but the questions had been raised.

  
After dinner, he checked in with his assistant and even that small amount of solitude irked him, and he found himself seeking out Rob to see if he wanted to go on a walk. But he couldn't relax enough to enjoy it. Instead, he found himself rambling on about the history of the landscape. He could tell that Rob was reluctantly humouring him.

Then the attendant at Dove Cottage recognized Rob and his mood took a turn for the dark as a small, despicable jealousy welled up inside him. He railed about the rudeness of old people in order to distract himself from what that ugly feeling may mean.

  
Back at Coleridge's house, he lit up a spliff, giving himself over to the influence of the drug, allowing himself to laugh and letting the sour mood that had been hanging over him all day to lift. He sat close to Rob and offered to share, but the man just looked concerned and went on about Coleridge and his drug habit.

Rob didn't even pour himself a drink.

After he gathered his things to head back to his own room, Rob snagged the cigarette from Steve's fingers and took a tentative draw, catching his gaze. 

When he spoke, smoke escaped in tendrils from his mouth, his voice carefully casual.

“I'm not the one not open to new experiences.”

And Steve knew exactly what he was talking about; exactly what he'd been trying  _not_ to talk about. And Rob was close, handing the spent spliff back to him. His eyes were still on him, dark and intense.

Steve didn't know what to say. He was too high to have to conversation. Too buzzed.

He reached out his hand, passing over the cigarette, fingers brushing to back of Rob's hand. He didn't know what he was reaching for, but Rob seemed to know, leaning forward and kissing him.

It wasn't soft or tender like the previous two kisses, but firm as if he was trying to prove something.

And he was returning the other man's kiss.

Steve had kissed other guys before and knew it wasn't his thing. He'd also kissed people while high and knew how intense it could be, but this was different. This was-- 

  
_oh._   


Rob parted his lips. A swipe of moist heat.

In response, Steve curled his fingers around Rob's wrist, wanting more. Wanting – 

The man pulled away, breaking his grasp. The butt fell from his hand. Rob grabbed his belongings and he was gone.

Steve sat on the edge of his seat, blinking. His fuzzy mind unable to wrap itself around the shift that had just happened.

On the carpet, the cigarette left a small, angled burn mark; evidence of what had transpired.

  
He didn't sleep well that night, his dreams plagued by Alan Partridge and the sense memory of Rob's tongue against his lower lip.


	4. THURSDAY

Rob looked tired the next morning. He looked as tired as Steve felt. But the subtle shift that had occurred the previous night seemed permanent. Something had opened between them. A tension had eased. 

Steve had reached for Rob. It was obvious the man wanted something from him. He'd thought last night, in his drug and liqueur induced haze that an acknowledgement had been what Rob wanted, but no. It was  _part _ of it, to be sure but the way Rob had run from the room spoke otherwise, leaving Steve just as confused – if not more so – as before.

But the ride was utterly enjoyable because of the change.

  
And then he had to go and complicate things even further by flirting with Yolanda, once again firmly defining the boundaries between Rob and him. Couldn't help but showing off and insulting Rob to make himself look better.

He could have kicked himself.

But he continued trying to impress her.  _Pathetic_.  When she offered him a line, it was all he could do to turn it down. His head was too clear for his own good when they headed out onto the moors for the photo shoot.

When his American agent called with news about the television lead, he knew he should feel ecstatic. This was the international break he'd been waiting for. But all he felt was a dull ache start behind his eyes.

He suddenly wanted to be away from Yolanda and her dull chatter.

  
He found himself at  Rob's door. The man answered almost immediately.

“Come in,” he said brightly.

Steve had rushed here after the shoot, refusing to give himself time to think about what he was going to say, only that he was going to say  _something _. So he almost missed that Emma was sitting on the settee inside the room.

“Oh, hi. Sorry. Am I interrupting?”

Rob and Emma? Surely not. Rob was dedicated to his wife.

“No. No. We were just chatting. I'm about ready to head off. How did the photos go?”

He studied her face. Why not Rob and her? Hadn't he been contemplating something in that same direction?

“Same – oh, I – fine,” he replied, suddenly at a loss for words, trying not to look at Rob.

“Good to hear. Anyway, I'll see you back in the city, yeah?”

He nodded as Emma excused herself, thanking him for the excellent dinner.

As soon as the door shut behind her, he allowed himself to glance at Rob. Words bubbled up inside him, but he was unable to string them into a sentence. The man seemed to sense something was wrong and came towards him.

“Food disagreeing with you?” he asked, concerned, moving within reach.

 _No, you are._ His chest was tight, making it hard to breathe. A small, self-depreciating laugh escaped his lips. 

“Steve?”

Unable to form a coherent sentence, he raised his arm towards Rob. His entire being was focused on the movement of his own hand, rising and then circling his fingers around the man's wrist. He meant the gesture to mimic what had happened between them at Coleridge's.

Rob inhaled sharply, but stayed still.

Steve didn't know what to do next. He'd been expecting Rob to make the next move, so he followed the man's lead and stayed still, fingers curled gently, feeling his pulse. He pushed his thumb up and under the cuff of Rob's jumper and raised his eyes. 

He momentarily glimpsed Rob looking at him with a curious and frustrated expression before the man made the last step toward him, bringing them almost flush with each other. Rob angled his head slightly, so that his mouth was so very close.

“Please.”

The word left him without conscious thought.

Then Rob was kissing him for real this time – open-mouthed, desperate and pressed up against him. Damn, the man could kiss, and then Rob pushed a thigh in between his own and Steve was suddenly grateful for the door at his back because even sober, his knees were threatening to betray him.

And then his brain caught up – this was the problem with being sober – and he pushed Rob away. He shook his head, aware that he would have a hard time denying anything when he was so obviously aroused; hard and panting against the door.

“What?” Rob said softly.

Steve stilled, letting his head hang, chin on chest.

“What?” the man repeated, a demanding edge to his voice.

Steve fled the room. What, indeed.

  
Later on that night, after doing a line, he fell into bed with Yolanda.

The sad look she gave him as she left revealed that the “Rob” he'd whispered into her neck hadn't gone unnoticed.


	5. FRIDAY

He spent all morning wanting to be around Rob but as soon as they headed off on a walk together, his instinct to flee overcame him. He left him sitting by the brook.

  
When they reached the Yorke Arms, he made the mistake of called Mischa and tried to complain about Rob. But she was only threatened by the women he'd possibly met. He walked from the field feeling tired, worn out by the constant fighting. Though he was glad to see Rob, he felt oddly flat through lunch and dinner.

After dinner, he found himself back in the field to talk to his son, meaning to chastise him but instead talking about Rob.

Their conversation was brief and he headed back towards their inn. Had it really been eleven years?

Upon reaching his room, he examined himself in the mirror. What was it that Rob saw? All he saw, if he was honest, was a sad and tired man past his prime. He fought back against the loathing that was rising within himself. No, only one more day, and then he could drown himself in liqueur and set about trying to forget this entire week.

There was a knock at the door.

He froze and considered not answering.

“Steve?”

He couldn't help it. He was drawn to the door, compelled to let Rob in. They stood in the doorway for an indeterminate amount of time. Silent. Steve hadn't the time to collect himself so he knew Rob saw the same sad man that had been staring at him from the mirror just moments before. But instead of pity or contempt, he read concern in the man's face.

Rob finally moved, as if by some silent cue, into the room. His movements were slow and deliberate, sliding around the door and leaning against it to shut it. Steve was drawn to him, helpless to resist any more. There was nowhere to run; no need to run. He hovered near him, less than an arm's length away.

Rob stayed pressed up against the door.

“What do you want?” the man asked.

How would he even begin to answer that? Money? Fame? Power?  But he knew how he'd answer right now: you. He wanted Rob. And he wanted that easy happiness that Rob brought into his life.

“Rob – “

He leaned forward so their foreheads were touching. 

“I want – “

He couldn't answer. He couldn't even bring himself to beg like he had the night before. Now that he knew, there was too much to loose. He felt the stir of air from Rob's shallow breathing on his cheek.   He turned towards the man's mouth; could feel the soft exhale on his lips.

“What do you  _want_?” Rob's voice was strained.

Steve closed his eyes. He didn't want to torment his friend – his  _best_ friend, the only one that had stuck with him this long – with this, especially since he was so unsure about the entire thing.

“I don't know.” He didn't know how to articulate the war going on between his desire and his uncertainty. “I want--”

Rob's hands were on his waist, then one hand moved up to his chest, pressing into the buttons there.

The man sighed against his lips.

“I want you,” Rob said bluntly, voice barely above a whisper. Steve nodded slightly. 

Yes. Yes, that was what he wanted too.

Rob kissed him then. Slowly. There was no desperation in it. Like his entrance into the room, it was full of deliberation and intent. Steve placed his hands on either side of the man, pinning him to the door. He felt the man shiver.  _Yes_.

He opened himself up, tongue battling Rob's own in his mouth. Arms around the other man, tugging the shirt from his jeans. They were moving, stumbling blindly across the room, turning. They sprawled onto the bed, Steve laying atop Rob, bodies pressed against one another. He rocked his hips instinctively, brain short circuiting.

Rob's lips were on his neck. He arched, gasping.

Deft fingers were divesting him of his shirt, pulling it down his arms, continuing their path and pushing under his waistband.

He pushed his hands underneath Rob's jumper, fingers ghosting over ribs. The man was deceptively fit.

He wanted more. More.  _More_.

Rob hooked a leg behind his knees and leveraged him onto his back, rolling so that he straddled Steve's hips. The man pulled his jumper over his head in one smooth motion even as he pressed down against Steve's erection. A guttural and desperate moan was wrenched from him. 

“ _Fuck_. ”

Rob was fumbling with the fastener on his jeans.

“That's the plan.”

A stutter of panic shot through him.

“Rob, wait. I – “

“Don't worry. I'll be on the receiving end.”

“No, that's not –“

“It's fine. I'm allowed to with guys.”

Rob was kissing him again, a grin on his lips.

“Never thought I'd want to.”

The man kissed his way along Steve's jaw, sending shivers through his body.

“Especially not with  _you_. ” He could hear the teasing tone in his friend's voice as he did wicked things to his neck.

He tilted his head back; wanted to tell him how good that felt. But what came out was: “I'm not gay.”

Rob immediately stilled, face still hidden in his neck. There was a long pause.

“Bully for you.”

The warmth of his breath contrasted with the cool air of the room. He felt himself harden further. He wondered at the man's sway over him. Why had he even opened his mouth?

Rob rolled to the side, lying next to him.

“Why is that such a hang up with you?”

Steve was at a loss for words. Really, Rob rivalled only his ex wife in the ability to leave him speechless.

“What's going to happen when we get back?”

Steve had no idea. He didn't want to think about it.

They laid in silence for such a long time, he nodded off. Minutes or hours later, he was jostled awake as someone shifted behind him. Rob was pressed up against his back, one hand curled around his hip. The man placed a kiss between his shoulder blades as he sunk back into sleep.

  
Steve woke alone.


	6. SATURDAY

“You're stuck in a metaphor!” Rob had shouted.

And now he was soaked. Soaked and shivering next to the open boot of his SUV.

“Bollocks,” he muttered as Steve dug through his bag for warm clothes. “I'm freezing!”

“Strip off,” Rob suggested.

“What? Here?” He gestured broadly, regretting his action as the breeze sucked more heat from him.

“There's no one around for miles.” The man turned, presenting pants, jeans and a hideous but delightfully warm looking jumper.

Steve eyed him carefully, suddenly feeling self conscious. He'd been nearly naked with Rob last night – he'd certainly been able to  _feel_ everything – but this was different. His  _fully clothed_ friend had him at a bit of a disadvantage. 

A biting gust of wind made the decision for him.

“ _Bugger!_ Fine .” Even to his ears he sounded every bit the petulant child. “Is that yours? It won't fit.”

“All your clothes are dirty and it's big, so yes, it will.”

He started wriggling out of his dripping clothes, struggling as they clung to him. He'd expected Rob to turn away or advert his gaze, but the man kept his eyes glued to him. Steve felt a warm flush creep up his neck.

“Bollocks,” he said again, throwing aside his sopping shirt and reaching for the jumper Rob held. The man set the rest of the clothes he held on the bumper and then stepped forward, gathering the jumper.

“Arms up.”

Steve gave him an incredulous look as he hugged himself. It was too bloody cold for this shit. “You can not be serious.”

Rob just raised his eyebrow.

Sighing, he held out his arms, letting Rob thread his hands into the sleeves of the jumper – god, it was blessedly warm – and forcing the neck hole over Steve's head.

“I'm not your sodding child.”

“What was that?” Rob feigned deafness. Steve knew he'd bloody well heard him. The man tugged the top down snugly.

He'd stepped closer while they'd struggled with the jumper, Steve realized. He'd never been this close to Rob in daylight before. The man's eyes were a much warmer brown than he'd thought.

“That better?” the man asked, rubbing his hands up and down Steve's arms. 

He couldn't answer.

“Your hair's a mess, though.”

Rob's fingers were in his hair, combing back the wet locks. Steve's eyes shut involuntarily. He was suddenly very warm and didn't mind the feeling in the least. The fingers came to a rest at the base of his skull. The slight pressure they exerted anchored him. His body had trained him in this short week what to anticipate next. He leaned forward, tilting his head slightly – but no, Rob's hands weren't on him any more.

He opened his eyes.

Rob's back was to him. The man was gathering the jeans and pants from the car's bumper.

“Here. Finish up,” he said, starting to move past Steve.

“Wait.”

His hand darted out and snagged Rob's wrist. He wanted that kiss. It had been as good as promised to him, and to have it withheld was like a physical ache in his chest. The feeling of being cared for. The concern in Rob's eyes. Steve didn't know how to react to this; had no previous experience to draw from.

He pulled Rob back in front of him. The man didn't resist.

“I want you to kiss me,” Steve said. His voice had a hard time escaping past the pressure in his chest, coming out hoarse and throaty.

Rob finally raised his eyes to meet his, a strange and unreadable expression on his face. When he spoke, his voice was soft and almost brittle.

“I love you, Steve, but I can't do that.”

Rob broke from his grip and moved to pick up the shirt and jacket he'd discarded.

No, the pressure wasn't in his chest. It was external; steel bands clamped around his rib cage. It was hard to breathe.

  
They didn't talk about it, but it followed them around for the rest of the day: at Steve's parents, in the car, and finally, when he dropped Rob off in front of his house. 

“I'll see you. Give me a ring and we'll, you know, get together.”

Watching him greet his wife, Steve knew Rob had been right to worry. They were back in the real world now. Things would go back to normal.

But Steve couldn't help but shake the feeling he was lying to himself.

Watching the video on his phone, he could hardly recognize the Steve that was with Mischa. It had been less than a month since they'd filmed it. Even then they'd been having problems. He looked so happy in the video but he knew that it had been a facade.

He could finally admit it: He was lonely. Heart-wrenchingly, achingly so. Now that he'd admitted it, he couldn't imagine trying to continue seeking reconciliation with Mischa. Everything was a struggle with her. At their best, he'd driven himself crazy with jealousy. At their worst, he'd been utterly miserable. His fingers scrolled to Rob's number on their own accord. He dialled.

“Hello?” Rob's voice was warm even over the phone.

His mouth went dry. He couldn't swallow.

“Steve?” The concern in the voice filled him with longing.

“Ah, yes... hello. Hi.” There was a pause. “Since you said to give you a ring, I figured tonight would do just as well as any other.”

He expected another voice – Pachino, Caine, Allen... anything – but when Rob responded, it was as no one but himself.

“Of course. I'm glad you called.”

“Rob,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Yes?”

“I know what I want.”


End file.
